


A Time to Fight

by OutOfTheShadows



Series: A Time for Every Purpose [3]
Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Season/Series 03 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 14:19:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15463278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OutOfTheShadows/pseuds/OutOfTheShadows
Summary: “I believe that the histories that will be written about this court after we are gone will be better and more entertaining than any novel, and I am afraid that those who come after us will not be able to believe them and think they are just fairy tales.”  Attributed to Elizabeth Charlotte, Her Royal Highness the Dowager Duchess of Orléans, late in her life, after many years of observing life in the court at Versailles.





	A Time to Fight

**Author's Note:**

> This is the third story in my “A Time for Every Purpose” series. While it can be read as a stand-alone story, you may wish to read “A Time to Heal” and “A Time to Grow” first. Like the first two entries in the series, this story combines some TV canon, some actual history, and some imagination on my part.
> 
> In this story, Queen Maria Therese and Minister Colbert are still alive, the Marquise de Montespan is still at Versailles but, after the Affair of the Poisons, no longer in the King’s favor.
> 
> This story begins immediately after “A Time to Grow”, as Philippe, the Chevalier, and Liselotte prepare to bring their children back to Versailles and make plans for increased financial independence from Louis. Philippe is still coping with war-induced post traumatic stress, and he and the Chevalier are attempting, day by day, to put their relationship on a healthier foundation – and then their plans get, well, interrupted, at least for a night.
> 
> Comments are welcome and encouraged!

Liselotte enjoyed her breakfast eggs and porridge, smiling at the morning sunlight streaming through the windows of the Orleans suite private salon. Tomorrow, they would travel to Paris and bring her baby back to Versailles. She had much to do today; while the rooms for Alexander and his nursemaids were nearly ready, she wanted to check them again, just to be sure.

The salon doors opened and her men entered: The Chevalier de Lorraine, always strutting his good looks and fashion taste, even in their private rooms, and Philippe, a beautiful warrior, naturally nocturnal and always slow to wake up – thank goodness, the Chevalier laid out Philippe’s clothes for him each night and then made sure he was properly dressed each morning. The men pulled up to the breakfast table and grabbed their usual pastries and fruit. _It is so good to see Philippe actually eating,_ Liselotte thought, and then was interrupted by the Chevalier.

“Tonight is Louis’ latest attempt at merry-making, is it not? Dozens of people killed in the streets of Paris less than a week ago, and our good King believes festivities are appropriate. His ego is so large, I fail to see how he maneuvers through the palace doors.”

“Just, please, stay away from him.” Both the Chevalier and Liselotte saw the concern in Philippe’s eyes. “And give Maintenon plenty of space as well.”

“Ah, life will be boring, if I cannot annoy Louis at all, but it is better than a third incarceration, so I will choose to behave.” The Chevalier resigned himself to an evening somewhere between tension and boredom. “But then, you, my love, could add a bit of spice to the evening, you have, as I recall, a new addition to your wardrobe, most appropriate for a royal ball?”

\------------

That afternoon, Philippe laid sprawled on one of the couches in his bedchamber, trying to read but not remembering the beginning of each sentence by the time he got to the end. The Chevalier was on the bed, propped up on one elbow and munching one of the fall’s first crisp apples.

“You are quiet, my love” the Chevalier declared “You pretend to be reading but you are not.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You have not turned the page in ten minutes.”

Philippe sighed. “Every day, another memory becomes real. I don’t know what to do.”

“Then you must tell me what memory is material to you today.   Something else from the battlefield?”

“No.”

“Then what, my darling?”

Philippe gave up all pretense of reading and dropped the book on the floor. “It is Thomas.”

The Chevalier took a deep breath – Thomas was something that had not spoken of yet. “I do not regret ending his life, if I had known what Louis was forcing you to do, I would have ended his miserable existence long before I did.”

Philippe looked down, ashamed. “I did not like to touch him. I did not like it when he touched me.”

Rage swelled in the Chevalier’s heart. He had seen the inside of prisons, been rejected by his family for who he was, spent two years in exile, clawed for money and lived a life where shame was an unaffordable luxury – but he had never sold himself to survive. Louis had forced Philippe, his Mignonette, to touch and be touched against his will – Louis had sold his own brother like a common whore.

Not knowing what to say, the Chevalier moved to Philippe’s side, and just held him.

“I wish I had been born a princess” Philippe whispered. “Louis would never have expected a sister to give her ass for France.”

 _Don’t bet on it,_ the Chevalier almost replied, and then thought better of it. “But my dear, then he would have married you off to some foreign king, and we would not have what we have now.”

“I guess you’re right.”

\-----------------

Philippe adjusted his bodice and looked at the final result in his mirror: The Chevalier and Liselotte had both helped him get dressed, put his hair up, and apply his makeup. The deep green of the dress, with just a hint of blue, seemed to compliment his pale complexion perfectly, and silver jewelry and hairpins picked up the silver threads adorning the dress. It was perfect.

The three of them would take turns dancing together, he would dance the men’s part when accompanying Liselotte and would be the lovely lady on his Chevalier’s arm. Louis would be infuriated, some of the court would snicker, but no one would end up in prison or exiled. Yes, it was perfect.

\--------------

“The Chevalier de Lorraine!” The Chevalier entered the ballroom as he was announced, all smug grin and golden curls, resplendent in his bright navy and gold outfit, chosen to set off both Philippe’s deep blue green and Liselotte’s vivid medium blue.

“Their Royal Highnesses, the Duc and Duchesse de Orleans!” The people of the court rarely gasped in surprise anymore when Philippe appeared in a dress; most of the nobles liked him, and, after winning two wars for France, he held almost universal respect. A few friendly chuckles followed, nothing more.

The trio gathered near the appetizer’s table, waiting for Louis and Marie Therese. A minute later, Bontemps proclaimed “The King!”.

Louis gave a few courtiers his “royal” smile, and then spotted Philippe, who was grinning cheerfully at his older brother.

“How many times have I ordered you to leave your deviancies in your own rooms?”

“Please, brother, I was not able to dress this way all the time I was gone to war, commanding the army. I missed some of the items in my wardrobe, and wish to wear them again now, since the war has been won and both William and Leopold defeated.”

Not wishing to carry the conversation farther, Louis settled for a sharp look and headed over to greet Madame de Maintenon.

“That was fun” Liselotte snickered.

\-----------------------

The ball progressed into the fourth dance, a loure, a slow gigue, which Philippe and the Chevalier were dancing together.

And then all hell broke loose.

About twenty men burst into the room, in musketeers’ uniforms, heavily armed with pistols and swords. “Against the walls!” their apparent leader commanded.

Stepping in front of the King, Bontemps growled at the men “Who are you, and how do you dare threaten your King?”

“Women to this side of the room, men over there!” the leader ordered, ignoring Bontemps, pointing for the women to gather near the main ballroom doors and the men to head to the far side of the room.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” Louvois demanded

Philippe, Liselotte, and the Chevalier exchanged a glance, and Philippe quietly went with the women.

“Take the women to the designated location!” the leader commanded about eight of the musketeers, and they hurried the women out of the room, weapons drawn.

“How dare you dishonor your King!” Bontemps roared at the raiding band’s leader.

The leader approached Bontemps and the King confidently, without bowing or lowering his pistol, scanning the faces of the other men. “Stay where you are, and no one will be hurt. We will be gone in an hour, and you may resume your revelry then, if you wish.” He turned to the musicians. “Keep playing, just as you would if we were not here.”

\----------------

Philippe and the women found themselves being herded into a salon down the hall from the ballroom. Philippe tried to keep Liselotte and Marie Therese as close to himself as possible _. I hope these ladies all have the presence to not reveal my identity_ , Philippe prayed. “Follow my lead” he whispered to Liselotte, as he backed away from the musketeers toward the east wall of the salon. The women, understandably scared, followed him across the room. _I know there is one of those doors that blend into the wall over here someplace._ _I need to do this fast, before they do a head count and start recognizing faces._ Marie Therese was tall. He needed to keep her in front of him.

“Your majesty, do not turn around or acknowledge me – continue to stand in front of me and do not call attention to yourself” Philippe quietly instructed.

Liselotte knew what her husband was doing. “Marie Therese” she whispered “Philippe is directly in front of a largely concealed door. I believe he will be trying to escape through it. Stay in front of him.”

Philippe looked at their captors, they appeared to be edgy, but had not yet taken any acts of violence against the women, or the men either, for that matter. “Liselotte, I need a diversion. Distract them but do not endanger yourself.”

“I have an idea. Be ready to move.”

Liselotte moved to the front of the group of women. “What are you men doing?” she implored. “Why have you taken us captive?”

“Please madame, remain silent” the nearest musketeer instructed.

“But we have done nothing wrong!” she cried, voice getting more frantic with each syllable. “It is wrong for you to imprison us this way!”

“Madame, you must remain silent!” the captor was clearly nervous now.

Liselotte doubled up, clutching her belly “My baby! Something is wrong with my baby!”

Marie Therese heard the door softly open and close immediately behind her.

\---------

Philippe moved silently down the servant’s corridor that ran along the salon wall – he needed to find a safe place where he could begin his plan. Gather intelligence, determine the enemy’s motivation, decide their logical plan of attack based on that motivation, and then set your own plan to counter it. It worked against the Holy Roman Empire, perhaps it would work against these men – whoever they were. Philippe had trouble believing that they were actually musketeers, but, it was possible – the Chevalier de Rohan had had co-conspirators among the police force, after all.

What did he need and where could he find it?  Some twine could work, or perhaps a handful of a child’s marbles? Too far to get to anyone’s apartment. He would go for the twine. The kitchens?

Damn. He had so hoped that he would be able to live without undertaking any more acts of hostility against other men, at least for a while. A few days ago, he was compelled to shoot a man dead in the streets of Paris. Now he was forced to fight a war in the corridors of Versailles.

Philippe turned down the next hallway and heard voices – all male, clearly not partiers. He ducked into the nearest closet. The voices grew closer.

“The King and most of the noblemen are still in the ballroom. The women in the salon. The men will behave; we have told them their ladies will pay if they do not. We must get him out now, before more people find out what is happening. We will utilize the hostages only if absolutely necessary. Do you remember the exit route?”

“Yes sir.”

“Then go get him.”

By that time, the voices were too far away to hear. _Who are they trying to get out?_ Philippe tried to think as fast as he could. Were they trying to kidnap the king, hold him for ransom? No, they would have separated Louis from the other men as soon as they took the ballroom, to keep confusion at a maximum, to instill fear in the nobles, and to avoid giving them time to plan.

He needed to capture one of them, alive and conscious, and get him to talk. Twine, twine. Too far to get to the kitchen. Too many of them roaming the hallways. His only weapon was his dagger, sheathed in its leather pocket, the pockets he had sewn into all his coats and dresses.

In the darkness, Philippe made out the outline of a servants’-grade chamber pot, likely copper and not porcelain. Perfect. But he still needed that twine. Or something else flexible and strong – Philippe sighed, looking down at his skirt. Like a strip of silk. _Forgive me, my love._ Philippe sat down, worked his fingers into the hem of the skirt, and began to tear off a long strip.

\-----------------

The musketeer finished his patrol down the corridor adjacent to the salon where the women were being held – no one had come looking for anyone yet, the ball would be expected to last for another hour or so, but they had to get him out soon, before people came looking for other people who were not arriving home at the anticipated hour.

Then he heard a noise, a shuffling sound, like someone stumbling over their own feet in the dark. Clearly coming from the closet he had just passed – the door was partially open - he opened the closet door a bit farther, slowly – it opened inward into the small room – too well trained to walk blindly into an ambush and with pistol drawn, the guard opened the door a bit farther, cautiously leaned inside, and something crashed over his head, dropping him to floor.

\------------------

Philippe grabbed the dizzy musketeer, dagger to his throat. “Who are you?”

“I don’t remember.”

“I suggest you think hard on that. And be glad the chamber pot that hit your head was empty.”

“My name is not important.”

“But your mission is – who do you work for, and who are you trying to take out of the palace.”

“I d-don’t remember.”

Philippe dragged the dagger very lightly across the man’s neck, drawing a few drops of blood but causing no real damage. “You people are holding my wife, lover, and brother hostage. Don’t think I won’t kill you to free them. WHAT IS YOUR MISSION?”

“We are here to get Mr. Marchal.”

A thousand thoughts went through Philippe’s mind, but they all led to one conclusion. Reaching around the musketeer, he grabbed him securely and knocked his head against the wall, putting him out cold.

\--------------

The Chevalier sat with the other men in the ballroom. Colbert, Bontemps, and Louvois all hovered around the King, who had given up on negotiating with their clearly uncommunicative captors. Who were these men and what did they want? Most of all, he worried about Philippe and Liselotte. If they actually threatened any of the ladies, Philippe would feel compelled to step in, and they would discover Philippe’s identity, or at least his gender. _Please, Mignonette, be careful._

\---------------

Liselotte sat on a chair, fanning herself, grateful that the Marquise de Montespan had the grace and coolness to play along with her charade. Montespan had been hovering over her since her “pregnancy complication”, mopping her forehead with a damp cloth, and inquiring about her condition every couple of minutes.

“Are you truly with child again, Your Highness?” Montespan whispered.

“No, just play along.”

“I was amazed that you got pregnant the first time. Most of the court thought it would never happen.”

“And how wrong you all were.”

\---------------

“I would speak to the prisoner, Fabien Marchal” Philippe ordered the guard. “Alone.”

The guard was not going to argue with the Duc de Orleans. He opened the door and moved a respectful distance away.

“Fabien, we must talk, quickly. Much is happening in the palace tonight. Is it happening with your knowledge?”

“I do not know what you are talking about.”

“I think you do.”

At that moment, a half dozen musketeers rushed in, overpowered the guard in charge of Marchal, and trained their weapons on Philippe.

Philippe and Fabien eyeballed at each other, a silent message and understanding passing between them.

“Do not harm him!” Fabien ordered.

\----------------------

“So, you tore off a piece of your skirt, tied it to a chamber pot, which was balanced atop of partially open door, and then, when he opened the door further, you pulled the chamber pot down on his head? Creative.”

“You must know by now that I do not approve of all that my brother does, but he is my brother. I will not harm him or allow harm to come to him. But I do not want to see your death, either.”

The lead musketeer interrupted “Mr. Marchal, we must get the signatures now. We need to be leaving soon. It is nearing the arranged time. Your path out should be cleared and ready.” “Shall I order them to bring Mr. Colbert?”

Philippe looked at Fabien. A smile spread slowly across Philippe’s face. “No, I have a better idea.”

\------------------

“Which of you is the Chevalier de Lorraine?” the leader of the guards demanded.

The Chevalier considered not answering for a moment, but coming forward was the honorable thing to do, and, if these men wanted him, it might have to do with Philippe or Liselotte. “I am he.”

“Then come with us.”

The musketeer said nothing more but led him down to the dungeons in the bowels of the palace. The Chevalier winced at the thought of another prison cell – but why would they choose to incarcerate him, and not the King or anyone of a higher rank? Estranged from his family as he was, he was not a good candidate to hold for a monetary ransom. Then he shivered: What if they had discovered Philippe, and were going to threaten HIM to gain Philippe’s cooperation?

After what seemed like an eternity, they reached the prison cells, and, there sat his Mignonette, hair disheveled, hem ripped on his dress, but apparently unharmed. The two men ran into each other’s arms, not caring who saw what.

The Chevalier pulled back for a word “Are you all right, Darling?”

“Fine – are the other men still in the ballroom?” The Chevalier shook his head yes and Philippe continued “I asked these men to bring you here, if you are willing, we need your help. And no, I am not under any duress, I am trying to do what is right.”

\-------------------------

Fabien Marchal looked with approval on the signed papers that announced his release and the safe passage of his group to Holland. “You have a talent for forgery, Lorraine. I suspected you earlier, but I had no proof.”

“Thank you.”

“You should also know that your cousin, Sophie de Clermont, if she made it to Holland, is still alive. If she and I find each other, I will marry her. Do we have your blessing?”

Shock and relief and joy all spread across the Chevalier’s face. “Yes, you have my blessing.”

Marchal turned to Philippe. “You must remember, Your Highness, that we brought you here, under threat, to ensure my release. After you talked your way past the first guard, you refused to cooperate further even under threat of violence to yourself and so we brought the Chevalier here to ensure your assistance. We needed your knowledge of the guard’s routines to slip past them, confident that those routines had been changed since I left my command.”

“That is our story.”

“One last question, Your Highness, was the Masked Man your brother?”

“No, he was not.” Philippe pivoted to the next topic. “One more issue, before you leave. You must strike me, not hard enough to break bone but hard enough to leave a mark. My brother will never believe I allowed you to restrain me without a fight.”

“Very well, Your Highness.” Fabien took a swing at Philippe, making contact with his cheekbone and sending him back against the wall. Philippe winced in pain, anticipated a good bruise, but could tell nothing was broken. This was Fabien Marchal. He knew what he was doing.

“Bind them.” Marchal commanded.

\---------------

Philippe and the Chevalier laid curled together in their bed, with the Chevalier holding a muslin bag of ice against Philippe’s bruised face. Philippe toyed with his lover’s lion’s mane of golden curls, winding a lock around his finger.

“Does your face hurt?” the Chevalier asked.

“No more than it did when you asked five minutes ago.”

“Do not be glib, my darling, you were struck by a highly skilled killer.”

“To whom you gave your cousin’s hand in marriage.”

They snuggled together in silence for a few minutes, and then Philippe declared “Tomorrow we bring our son here, to Versailles. Are we mad?”

“Maybe, but we’ll be mad together.”

They laughed until they could laugh no more and fell asleep in each other’s arms.

\---------------

**Author's Note:**

> I truly hated the final fate of Fabien in the TV series, so I wrote this story, in part, to give him a chance at a future. 
> 
> Children did play with marbles in 17th century France.


End file.
